Not Your Average Bot
by The-madness-linked-to-a-hat84
Summary: Some hybrid cybernetics released by AIM had gone awry leaving a shit storm in its wake, disgruntled state officials are losing confidence but can the team be sure they've seen the last of the repeat Ultron wannabe? And whats going on with Starks tech? or It's not as simple as turning it off and on again


**"What does the colour of your car say about you? ... Apparently, it says, I have more money than sense, who knew?!"**

The late evening saw Tony sitting at his desk flitting between a handful of weaponized schematics. It was nothing heavy, just something to shift his focus for when he grew bored of repetitive notions that made his fingers ache or worse, threatened to add further strain to his already tired eyes. Frustration was another niggling foe, and one that had already shown its face by starting, and currently ending with last month's issue of 'Classic American' finding itself flung, pages flapping across the open space because seriously, what kind of person cared what the colour of their cars said about them?

He wasn't in a good headspace.

It had taken a couple of hours of avoiding fault when he slowly started to accept why Cap'n Rogers had been so pissed. It hadn't helped that the most recent mission involved some hybrid cybernetics let loose by AIM and unsurprisingly they'd gone awry. Or even that disgruntled state officials had rushed to publicly dub the situation as the 'shit storm of the century' before continuing to scrutinise each member of the Avengers. True, he got that everyone feared a repeat of Ultron's revolution, but surely, they could see the juvenile flaws, the distinctive differences in their approach and of course the lack of immediate collateral damage.

But no, the real icing on the cake had been the moment his booted feet had hit the landing pad. He was off, barely offering so much as a wave before stepping into the awaiting elevator. Tony wanted – no, needed to avoid the awkward questions and the subtle pressure to voice his opinion on what had been said. His workshop offered space and the chance to playback the footage and work.

Everything he'd been tinkering with over the past few days prior, had been enhancements or alike no one had asked for – Clint, for instance, hadn't requested that he work on a lightweight yet profoundly enduring chest piece with all new fancy attachments to help give him an edge in battle, nor did Natasha need him to improve the trajectory on her spider bites. If they had, they would have asked. It made sense to want to be ready for the next hit, to take pointers on how their opponents held themselves in battle and so on, but despite the city currently falling to shit, the engineer's biggest issue at this time was Cap.

The last time they'd properly spoken had typically been in front of an audience almost a week ago. Tony had been showing off and cracking out jokes (bad ones if memory served him right). It was a familiar play, a showy coping mechanism, that if anyone looked hard enough would easily be able to catch the cracks in his façade. Steve, unfortunately, seemed to have just thought it as further avoidance, it also didn't help how his memories cruelly reminded him of the plead surrounding his partner's tone when asking for recognition or how easily he appeared to brush it off.

Letting out a long breath, Tony mindlessly waved his hand shooing away a bulk of the holographic plans, leaving nothing but the bare bones of the original design before reclining back into his chair. Jarvis had highlighted a few areas' that needed further attention and without prompt stored the information for another time.

It had been Steve who had ended it and who could've blamed him?

A large clatter of containers from behind offered a moment of distraction from his woeful thoughts. "Whatever that was, you're cleaning that up!" - His tone was short.

Some idle assumption had already acknowledged that it was Dum-ee, whirling around somewhere behind him, possibly putting together a cup of coffee that he neither wanted nor asked for. While the bot appeared un-phased by the comment, experimentally waving around a spoon with some enthusiasm before slowing to follow the well-rehearsed method of preparing a hot drink. Two scoops of coffee, a splash of milk and a heaped spoonful of sugar to taste. Sure, a little of the heated liquid sloshed over the sides, streaking the outer enamel but in fairness, the mug had remained relatively full. Though now, the challenge at hand was transferring it from counter to worktop.

Tony had perked up again, subtly adjusting his position in his chair while combing both hands through his hair and interlocking his fingers to rest around the back of his head. He was careful, however, not to allow his elbow to block his peripheral view as he turned slightly to look over the bot. "What exactly are you doing over there? I didn't ask for any …"

Too late!

Abruptly pushing his seat back with the balls of his feet, the engineer found himself hanging on by the far back edge of his desk as more of the bitter beverage spilt clumsily and with a bang against the bench. "If any of this stuff leaks onto those contracts Pepper brought down, I swear she'll donate you to a city college…"

No harm no foul. Dum-ee appeared to be in the clear.

** –**

The evening continued to drag and despite his efforts, Tony couldn't stop his thoughts wandering back to the 'All American Hero'. It hadn't been uncommon, on nights such as these, for Steve to pop down with a warm drink in hand and the charming offer to help. Without question, the soldier had a pretty good understanding of this century's technology and his ideas were well thought out with a certain degree of an explanation backing it up it was just, his intentions were actually a coded excuse to give him hell, mostly over how much time he had put into his work and what the effects from the lack of sleep would have on his body not to mention his mind-set.

One night, however, seemed to take precedence above the rest. Their conversation had started much the same, with slightly elevated voices highlighting the largest annoyance while touching upon the other choice contenders that happened to include the unusual query of 'was he going to actually drink the avocado smoothie that had been so thoughtfully brought down in exchange for his double scooped, over-sweetened black coffee?'.

(Yeah, that wasn't something he was going to try again in a hurry!)

Admittedly, Tony had been in a bratty mood with zero tolerance for repeating the overused and well-rehearsed responses. Pepper, God love her, had taken up what was left of his patience with some annual review and some freshly risen complications with the plans, he'd submitted some months prior with regards to citywide greener energy campaign. Should all have that been known, it would have been clearer as to why his fingers wound tighter around the screwdriver, he had to hand why his glance defiantly held onto the piece of armour he'd been reassembling. He'd been so close to barking out obscenities with some rather colourful wording when a pair of strong hands tugged at his shoulders followed quickly by deft fingers that began working small circles just under the rim of his collar. "You haven't heard a single thing I've said, have you?"

The memory alone of heated breath traipsing over the outer shell of his ear made his body shudder.

"That all depends on where telling the truth will get me." Tony scoffed, fighting back a slight smile that threatened to pick at the corners of his mouth; his head easily falling back to connect with a firm chest.

His reward had been a kiss on the nose, such a simple yet intimate gesture that seemed to sum the side of Steve that so few had the opportunity to witness. – that sweet guy from the '40s he'd always praised himself on being. Still, it had made him laugh.

Well, chuckle.

Tipping his cup with a slight shake of his head, Stark audibly groaned at the bitty thick sludge pooling toward the tilt. Yeah, this was him 'officially done' for the duration and for the bot too seeing as it had taken to nuzzling its pincer gripped sensors pathetically into his lap. "Hey – hey, my legs going to sleep there. Docking stations back that way."

It seemed to take a few moments before his light protest appeared to have registered. Dum-ee reversed sluggishly back towards the sink before turning off towards its docking bay. Admittedly it had come across as odd but nothing that struck as requiring any immediate attention.

Finally pushing himself up from his seat, Tony briefly rubbed his palms over the tops of his pants while the chair continued rolling back. "Jarvis, standard drill, don't bother with any wake-up calls unless it's an actual emergency and not just another sneak peek at 'How 'not' to cook with Thor' ... Okay? Lights off, I'm off to bed."

The lighting shut down in stages with barely a breath space between each before the room fell into close to utter darkness before the light of the previously closed schematics re-illuminated the workspace.


End file.
